Page 33 of Breakaway Goal

Heavy beats of silence keep ticking past as I’m still too stunned to work my tongue into speech.

Furrows dig into Maddie’s forehead.

“Uh, if it’s not okay, I could look through Jasmine’s bag and see if she has a shirt I could wear …?”

“No!” the word erupts from my lips, way louder and sharper than I intended.

I sure as hell don’t want her to take my shirt off. After seeing this sight, I wish she could wear nothing but my clothes.

I want to see her swimming in one of my t-shirts. One of my hoodies. My jersey. The thought of my number on her chest sends raw desire slicing through me. She only ever wears her brother’s jerseys to our games …

I clear my throat, trying to gather my thoughts and step back into reality. “It’s fine. No problem. You can wear that. Keep it for as long as you need.” I’m babbling now.

“Sure. Thanks.” Maddie says, her face quizzical at my odd demeanor.

If only she knew the things running through my mind right now, the feelings that the simple sight of her in my shirt sends spiraling through me …

We make two huge trays of lasagna, and as expected none of it survives when the guys and Jasmine get back home.

All night long, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes from constantly latching onto Maddie while she’s in my shirt; and an even harder struggle to keep from dwelling on how damn perfect life would be if the girl underneath it wasmine, too …

15

RHYS

Iwail a painful moan into the throw pillow I’m pressing my face into.

My neck and trap muscles are fucking killing me. I should have known not to go lift for lift at the gym with Hudson, the strongest guy on the team. My ego bites me in the ass again.

That was yesterday afternoon. I woke up today sore as shit, then had to go to practice. Now my muscles are howling in pain. The rest of the guys went to Marco’s Pizza to get something to eat after practice while I trudged back home.

First thing I did was strip my shirt off my sweat-drenched torso, since I was too sore to even shower. Second thing I did was lumber to the couch and collapse face down.

Those are the only two things I’ve done for the last half hour. Well, unless you count repeatedly groaning into this pillow.

The front door opens.

“Who is it?” I ask, my question muffled by the pillow. “I can’t turn around.”

“It’s me.” My heart thumps at the sound of Maddie’s soft, musical voice.

I hear her plop onto the other couch in the living room. “Trying to get a tan?” she asks.

I huff a small chuckle into the pillow, but even that tiny motion strains my muscles enough to make me wince in pain. “My neck and back muscles hurt so much that even having a shirt resting on them is too much to bear.”

“Did you take some ibuprofen or anything?” she asks.

“No,” I grunt into the pillow. “Too sore to walk any further than the couch.”

“You’re lucky you have me,” Maddie sighs, pushing to her feet.

She doesn’t know the half of how lucky I am to have her.

Even though this is our last year together …

I push the thought from my head. I’m already dealing with a throbbing pain in my back, neck, and shoulders. I don’t need a stabbing pain in my chest on top of it.

Maddie returns from the kitchen and kneels next to me. “Here, swallow.”

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